


Mirror, Mirror

by mallotovcocktail



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Magic, Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:09:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1470973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mallotovcocktail/pseuds/mallotovcocktail





	Mirror, Mirror

_Mirror mirror on the wall_ , Dean smirked. Reflections of his face were smiling back at him, he squinted. Tradition had forced him here. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, it was just his reflection looking back. 

He looked to the side, the door where he’d entered, the women in charge of the clinic was leaning against the door frame. Her name was Pamela, psychic mirror extraordinaire. She nodded at him, glancing towards the wall of mirrors.

Each mirror had a different frame, some black and thin, some elegant and ceramic. Each mirror showed his own face. Pam had told him to look into them one by one. She’d said he’d see his soul mate in one of them. He rolled his eyes, he was only here because of the pain he’d seen on Mary’s face when he’d said he didn’t believe in soul mates. Ok, he might have said he didn’t think anyone could love him, whatever. 

He sighed. He looked into a mirror at his eyeline. The frame was yellow and thick, the mirror two feet on the diagonal. Still nothing but green eyes and freckles. Mary and John still had their mirrors, with matching frames of metal ornate flowers and thorns. The mirrors hung above their bed, he’d assumed each respectably above their sides of the bed. Dean used to look at himself in the mirrors, staring as he aged, eyes gaining years. He’d used to stare into his mother’s and imagine his soulmate staring into his father’s.

_Who’s the fairest of them all?_ Dean glanced from mirror to mirror, concerned. He hadn’t inquired what would happen if his mirror wasn’t in the room when Pam had asked if he’d had any questions. He regretted that now.

He looked up at the ceiling, exasperated. He wished he hadn’t come here. He should have taken the Impala to the Roadhouse and grabbed a beer. This wasn’t worth it. He’d see nothing but green eyes, he knew it. He turned his eyes to Pam but Pam was looking at a mirror in the upper right hand corner. Dean followed her gaze: a mirror the size of his face, small and square, with an inch thick frame of dark wood. 

The reflection was empty, his eyes not present. He watched as tan fabric moved in the frame. Dean stepped forward, gazing as a boy stepped back as if a camera was zooming out. The young man was standing in the center of a room similar to the one Dean was alone in. He had stark blue eyes, dark hair, an unironed trench coat.

Suddenly, Pam pulled him around by his shoulder. She looked scared, hard. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she hunched slightly to look him in the eyes.

“Dean…” She whispered. “This… this doesn’t happen often. I’ve heard about it but I’ve never come across it personally. I don’t…” She stared over his shoulder and Dean tried to look at the boy in the mirror. Her hands tightened. 

Dean looked down at the ground. Something was wrong with him. He’d known for 18 years but now, Pam was confirming it.

“Your soul mate, Dean, he’s unreachable. He exists,” she motioned behind him. “You just saw him. But he’s not… here. He exists elsewhere, in another world.”

“Why?” Dean murmured.

Pam shook her head.

“I don’t know, Dean.”

\--

Dean took the mirror home. Pam had insisted. She’d stuffed it into a plastic grocery bag and placed it in Dean’s hands. Mary had looked at him hopefully when she’d seen him walk into the house. He didn’t make eye contact and placed the frame under his bed, under his skin mags. 

“Happy birthday!” Sam smiled as Dean joined his family at the kitchen table. He mussed Sam’s hair.

“Thanks, Sammy.”

“Sam,” he corrected. “How was your trip to the psychic?”

“I didn’t go,” he lied. Mary looked at him, her knowing eyes brimming with the sadness of a mother who knows when her children are hiding their pain. “Got a beer instead.”

“You’re only 18, Dean.” His father was judging him, silently angry that Dean had been disrespectful enough to not go to the clinic. Dean shrugged. Everyone was quiet. 

“Dinner will be ready in 10, boys. Then we’ll open presents!” 

\--

Dean stood in the doorway of his parent’s room. His dad was in his office. He could see the reflection of the window in the mirrors.

“Dean…” his mother put her chin on his shoulder. “What happened?”

He walked to the foot of the bed, looking at his duel reflections.

“I was right.”

\--

When he moved out of his parents’ home and into an apartment, he found the bag. Dean looked.

The new apartment was bare, Sammy and dad had helped him unload the boxes, leaving for the afternoon with an invitation to dinner at home. Dean was unpacking them, cross legged on the hardwood floor of his brand new, tiny bedroom. The box had Sam’s writing in thick black pen: _Dean’s disgusting fetish porn._ Dean chuckled.

He ran his fingertips over the plastic skin, it crumpled up. Dust flurried in the air. He coughed, breathing out of his nose. He opened the bag and pulled out the mirror. It was upside down and he let out a breath, relieved slightly.

The frame was strange. The entire back made of the same wood that hugged the glass. 

He took a breath and turned the mirror over. He opened his eyes. The mirror showed a reflection of a room, a living room, facing a large wall of windows. He saw a leather couch and a wall of books. The window showed a large orchard outside of the room. It was well lived in, sunlight golden yellow in the open room. He liked the room. It was a room he could live in, would like living in. A room he could drink a beer in and be soothingly content.

He smiled, despite himself. He saw movement in the corner, the blue eyed boy, now 2 years older, walked into view, two brown bags full of groceries in his arms. He placed them on a table, wiping his forehead with his trench coat, before laying it next to the bags. Dean watched as the man stretched his arms over his head. 

His blue eyes caught Dean’s and he jumped, gasping. Dean panicked. He tossed the mirror into his half full sock drawer. He gasped.

\--

Dean fucked his way through most of the town he lived in. Girl after boy, blonde after blonde, he fucked them. He shoved them against walls with kisses and they threw him on beds and he sought comfort from the limbs and skin of other people. He’d shut his eyes while a blonde was bottoming out into him and see dark hair and the sky and curse.

He returned to Pam’s clinic.

\--

He was handed a cardboard cup full of black coffee. Pam’s office was very dark and plush. The couch he was sitting on reminded him of a therapist’s. She waited for him to speak.

He did not.

“Four years,” she nodded. “Stubborn.” He swallowed, nodding at his cup.

“What…” he began. “What can I do?”

Pam sighed.

“Dean, your soul mate lives in another world. We, the psychics, don’t know where it is. There are theories; other planets, parallel universes. Your soul mate isn’t reachable. But… where does he live? Many of the _others_ say they live on Earth but we can’t sense them. They simply… aren’t here.”

Dean wasn’t going to cry.

“I have this dream sometimes,” he refuses to look at her. “I’m fishing on a dock. I think it’s a lake, I’ve never been there before, I don’t know if it’s real. But I’m fishing there, sitting on a camping chair and he joins me. He walks up from the shore and stands beside me.” He grips his cup. 

“Does he also have those dreams?”

Dean looked at her, confused. “What?”

“Your soul mate, you haven’t told me his name, does he have the dreams?”

“I… I don’t… How would I know?”

“Ask?”

“He’s a goddamn parallel universe!”

“And you have the only known link to his world.”

\--

When Dean returned home, he found the mirror. He propped the picture of the empty room on a pile of shirts on his bed. No one was there, the room was sunny. Dean watched a tree in the yard blow in the wind. The picture of magic. He was getting restless, pacing his room, organizing his drawers, folding the pile the mirror was leaning on, occasionally bending over to glance at the tree. 

Dean fell asleep, tucked around the frame like it was a screen. When he opened his eyes, the scene had changed. The couch, which faced the mirror, was occupied by the man. Dean sat up, jostling the frame. He crossed his legs, pulling the frame into his lap, allowing himself to stare at the sleeping man. His eyes were shut and his hair a mess. He was wearing scrubs. Dean smiled, ran his finger across the top of the frame. He wanted the man to wake up, his stomach a cage for winged animals. Ravens beat their feathers against his ribs.

The sun was rising before the man stirred. Blue eyes opened and startled. He sat up eagerly, smiling. He began moving his hands quickly and Dean blinked. He held the mirror away from him, the same distance he held his phone when facetiming Sammy.

The man was signing, Dean shook his head softly, frowning. The man left the couch, rummaging around the room. He sat back down in front of Dean, a pad and pen in his hand. He began to write. Dean waited.

_My name is Castiel. What’s yours?_ Dean smiled. Then started. He needed paper to reply. He held his finger up, wait a minute. He found some scrap paper.

_Dean_. He shrugged.

_Hello, Dean._

\--

Dean fell in love with Castiel easily. Through late nights writing and signing (Dean learned quickly) and during their dreams. They would go on dates in their dreams. Cas would introduce Dean to his brother and they would all go to dinner with Sammy and Mary and John.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel had joined him on the dock again. Dean started, before they’d introduced themselves, they’d never talked in the dreams. He’d assumed it was impossible; maybe Cas had too. His voice was deep. 

“Hey, Cas.”

Dean smiled.

He ached for Castiel when awake and clung to him when asleep. He’d hurry home after work and horded fistfuls of ambien.

“Dean?” Castiel was waiting for Dean when he showed up, joining the other man in the visage of a nondescript park. He sat on the bench next to Cas, smiling at the imaginary children on the monkey bars. 

“How is it possible to miss you, Cas?” Castiel watched him, silently. “I’ve never even met you in real life, man.” Dean put his head in his hands. “I don’t even know if you’re real.”

Cas shifted and moved over next to Dean. He placed his hand on Dean’s knee, waiting for Dean’s breaths to even out and for Dean to meet his eyes.

“Dean,” Cas smiled. “I’m not sure I care whether I’m real or not.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. He leaned over, cupping Cas’ cheek. It felt real, Cas felt real, his love felt real. He pressed his forehead against Cas’. _He’s real_. He pressed his lips against Cas’ their noses bumping. _Real, real, real_. They kissed in the sunlight, ignoring the tears on Dean’s face.

\--

Pam called him regularly now. It served two purposes to her now, checking in on him and researching the psychic problem of not being able to sense these rare people. Dean opened up to her. Told her about his dreams, the ones he couldn’t explain as normal dates to Sam. 

Mary fretted. Dean told Sam he was dating someone, a guy named Cas. He talked about their dreams like real dates, told Sam things that Cas said. Sam met his soul mate at school: Jessica Moore. Mary watched Dean sadly.

Sam told Mary about Dean’s boyfriend. Mary gushed.

“Why haven’t we met this new boy? Castiel? You never even mentioned him until Sam told us.” They were sitting in Mary’s kitchen. She was cooking. Dean had his head pillowed on his bag on the kitchen table. “Invite him over for dinner.” She turned to him. “Please, Dean.”

“Cas is busy,” he didn’t meet her eyes. It wasn’t a lie, he was. He got called to the hospital at odd times. They’d had this conversation dozens of times. Mary was starting to get hurt by the lame excuses.

“Are you in some kind of trouble with this boy?” John asked as he entered the room. “Do you have that wrench I lent you?”

Dean grumbled and reached into his backpack. He searched the bag blindly. 

“We wanna meet someone who is obviously so important to you.”

“This boy doesn’t have a soul mate he’s cheating on, does he?”

Dean shook his head, quiet. He pulled out the wrench. It caught on the mirror. No, he thought.

“What’s this?” John pulled it from his bag. Staring at the empty room. Mary gaped over John’s shoulder. “Is this? Is this a soul mirror?”

Dean sat still, patient, frightened. 

“You said…” Mary began. Dean looked at his shoes.

“Cas… he’s in there. I can talk to him and fall in love with him but the psychics can’t feel him. He doesn’t exist. At least not here.”

Mary watched him. 

“But you… have the dreams?” Dean nodded, he didn’t want to talk about this. Not with his happy soul mate parents. “Oh, Dean.”

“I’m not crazy,” he whispered.

“No, angel, of course not! We all have the dreams. Everyone.”

“He’s not made up. He exists.” Tears were welling in his eyes. Dean slammed his fist on the table. He had known he’d felt this way. He had ignored it. He had been successful. “I’m not crazy!”

His mother and father were watching him with wide eyes. He looked from one to the other. They were gazing at his fist. He glanced down: the mirror. He’d smashed it.

He gasped. 

“Cas!” The pieces were just a mirror. His gut emptied, air leaving his body. He deflated. He saw the reflection of his own tear stained cheeks and terrified eyes. “Fuck, no. Cas! Castiel!” He was pushing the shards together, puzzle pieces in the frame. “Cas!” His voice broke. 

Mary wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. John took his place, slowly placing the glass in its home. Dean sobbed into her arms. “I’m not crazy, he’s real and now I’ve lost him.”

She lead him to the couch, hugging him tight to her body. Mirror mirror, he growled into the soft cotton of his mother’s sleeve.

“I never told him that I love him.” 

He spent the night in his old bed. He didn’t dream of Castiel. He woke up sore and defeated. 

A sticky note was placed on his mirror, glued back in place, shining his bright red eyes back at him. His parents had left for work. He was to call them if he needed anything and stay as long as he wanted. He left. 

\--

He visited Sammy. He left the day after breaking the mirror. Pam called while he was on the highway, the impala shaking below him. He didn’t want to admit that he thought about driving into a tree. He didn’t. He wasn’t a lovesick teenager. He was a lovesick 25 year old. 

She admitted that she had never been able to sense him psychically either. She said she thought that had been obvious.

“The link made when you match eyes in the mirror is what gives the psychic their power. I couldn’t feel either of you in that room. That’s how I knew, Dean.” He hung up on her eventually.

He drove. He didn’t sleep the whole way there. Sam let him into his house, he shared it with Jessica. He grabbed Dean, squeezing him.

“Mom told me,” he whispered.

“You grew, Sammy,” Dean ignored him.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

\--

Dean knew Sam and Jess had a roommate. He didn’t know, however, how obnoxiously loud said roommate happened to be. He pulled pillow over his ears, turning into the couch. Apparently, the whole house was awake.

“Hey,” he heard Sam say from the kitchen. “You’re home. How’s your brother?”

“Great! Shaken. You don’t wake up from a coma of 6 years without some issues.”

“I’d imagine,” Jess was trying to speak in a hushed tone, at least.

“Where’d you set him up?” 

“He’s with our parents. Not too happy about it, though. I swear, he almost doesn’t seem happy to be awake. He had a whole life in his mind. He says he thought he was awake. He lived every moment.”

There was silence for a moment, Dean sighed, pushing his face into the cushions. He wasn’t happy to be awake either.

\--

“Dean,” Sam was shaking him. Dean opened his eyes slowly, groaning at the light.

“What.” 

Sam laughed. “I’ve got to go to class. Jess is at work but Gabe is in his room if you need anything.” Dean rubbed his eyes.

“Gabe?” 

“Our roommate, Gabriel. Oh shit, you haven’t met him yet. GABE!” Sam moved to the man’s room. Dean sat up and dragged his arm across his face. 

“Gabe, this is Dean, my brother.” Dean stood up, held out his hand, and looked up. Oh. _Gabriel_. 

“You…” Dean gasped. “You… you don’t exist.”

“I’m pretty sure that I do…” Sam was looking at Dean like he was ill.

“Dean?”

Dean held out his hand and touched Cas’ brother’s face. “Dean,” Sam hissed.

“Sam, why’s your brother touching my face?”

“He just lost his soul mate, he’s kind of out of it. _Dean_.” He dropped his hand.

“Where’s Cas?” Dean almost snarled.

“Dean,” Sam grabbed him, breathing to begin the avoidable assurance that Castiel was not technically real. “You know that Ca--”

“You know Cas?” 

Sam stopped.

\--

Dean was bobbing up and down on his feet. He wasn’t crazy. He _wasn’t_ crazy. Gabriel was looking at him skeptically. They were standing on the steps of the Novak family mansion; _mansion_. A maid opened the door and Gabriel nodded to her. She let them in. Dean was vibrating from excitement.

They walked through halls and up stairs. Voices became clearer.

“Castiel, you have been in a coma for 6 years.”

“You think I’m not aware of that, mother?” Dean stopped. That was Cas’ voice. He’d never heard it outside of his dreams. He gaped at the door. Gabriel was waiting for him, smiling, allowing him to eavesdrop.

“You have more important things to worry about than going to a soul clinic.” Gabe nodded, holding out his hand, a sign for Dean to wait. 

He threw the doors open, Dean could see a woman standing at the side of a bed.

“Luckily for you, kiddo, I took the liberty of tracking down your mirror years ago. It’s in your room.” Dean heard ruffling, saw the woman reach for the bed. “Whoa there. Anyway, there’s no rush, your mirror just reflects.”

“No,” Cas’ voice ran through Dean’s spine.

“Yep, turns out the mirrors of coma patients just reflect.”

“Or you don’t have a soul mate,” Castiel’s mother hissed.

“And when you woke up, unfortunately, it still just reflected. But that’s not your fault. That’s Dean’s. Stupid lumbering idiot broke his mirror.” Dean heard a breath cut off at his name. He was glued to the spot, staring at the wood floor of the hallway, a shard of a mirror in the frame of the building. “Dean-o,” Gabriel stuck his head around the corner. “That was your queue, man.”

Suddenly, Dean was alive. He jumped into motion, rounding the door and gazing at Castiel.

“Cas…” he whispered. Cas smiled.

Dean walked to Cas’ side, reaching out hesitantly. His heart was fleeing his torso. His head was swimming, tears blurring Cas’ blue blue _blue_ eyes. He brushed Cas’ hair off his forehead. He cradled Cas’ face in the cage of his hands. “ _Cas_.” He beamed. 

He kissed him, chaste and desperate, breathing Cas into his ribs. _Real_. Cas moved his lips to the corner of Dean’s mouth. _Cascas, Cas_. He butted Cas’ cheek with his forehead. _I love you_.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean chuckled, wiping away a tear. He was right. He wasn’t crazy.


End file.
